


That's Got His Own

by Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7167464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog/pseuds/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wonders if this is his hell, this is his punishment for everything he’s done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This is theoretically a prequel to my superfamily fic. Theoretically.

Steve hates the silence. In the 21st century he doesn’t have to worry too much about lack of noise - the drone of traffic, the chatter of people on the streets regardless of time, the buzz of television - it never stops. Only when he steps into his apartment does the lack of sound press against his head like walls, suffocating and cold. Every morning he wakes, gasping, the clamouring in his head at odds to the utter quiet of his room. He goes out, goes jogging, catches the trains, walks the streets, surrounds himself in noise so the silence doesn’t drag him into a place he’s not sure he could escape again. Dragging him under into an icy abyss, so cold he can’t even hold onto her voice in the final moments.

He wanders, taking in a world that is no longer familiar, and he alone, waiting in a bombed out bar for his friend that won’t ever come. He can’t bring himself to make the call, even if it’s just to tell her he’s sorry he missed their date, scared that she’ll be angry, or worse still, not even care. He can’t walk into that building, but he can’t bring himself to walk away, knowing there’s a son in there heartbreakingly similar to the father, and instead etches out the tower, wondering where all his fearlessness went. He suspects it’s still down there in the ice.

And suddenly the noisy streets are too much, too many people pressing at him from all sides and he has to escape. There’s a gym that isn’t all fluorescent lights and shiny strange equipment, and he hits the punching bag like it's a fight, hoping he can forget but the gym is empty, the noise in his head won’t stop, and he can’t drown out their voices not matter how hard his fists land.

When Fury arrives with a mission, the folder with the familiar blue cube that he saw only a month ago - only 70 years ago - the clamouring softens, he can focus, can push the noise out.

There are soldier, agents, structured and efficient, and for the first time waking up Steve finds something familiar. The Helicarrier is a surprise, but then, this is SHIELD, this is what Peggy and Howard created, so he really should've expected it. Perhaps Howard finally got that flying car to work, and the thought makes Steve smile, even as he dons the garish new uniform. He’s glad no one is there, because it’s tight and bright, and suddenly he feels like he’s back selling war bonds, and his cheeks burn.

Tony Stark is everything he expected. Flashy. But he’s clever and smooth charm too, and Steve doesn’t want to compare but it's inevitable. Except it isn’t Howard he thinks of when he gets nothing but cheek from Stark, and it feels like a betrayal that he could ever compare anyone to Bucky, and he is colder, sharper than he really means to be, and Stark is too and it feels like just another thing that's been lost.

Punches and gunfire and blood are easy, familiar, and it is another shameful stab in his heart that he can ever think that, but it’s better than the silence when he loses another, again and again, there seems to be nothing but blood on his hands as he fails to save those that need him. He wants judgment, to have them scream his faults to his face, and Stark gives him that at least. He could always count on her telling him so, telling him those hard truths, and he wonders if Stark got that off of her. The files hadn’t mentioned.

Steve fights, and it’s another battle, another war to be won, doesn’t matter where the enemy is from, and a secret part of him wants this fight to be the last, and it burns that it feels like giving up. He feels so very far from those back alleys in Brooklyn.

Stark falls, plunging down, and once again he can only stand and watch. He’s failed to catch hold of that hand, he’s unable to stop that bullet, since waking up all he’s done is lost more than he’s saved, and Steve wonders if this is his hell, this is his punishment for everything he’s done.

Stark shudders awake.

“We won,” Steve breathes, and something breaks in him as Stark starts babbling away about some diner.

Maybe not hell afterall. Maybe this is his redemption.

Later, even though they’re exhausted beyond belief, they let Stark herd them all into the diner, a blasted out cafe that almost tears Steve to pieces at the thought of only a month ago, but he’s not alone here, and they’re all tired, dirty and bruised and its achingly familiar. It’s comfortable. Steve’s so tired he can barely chew, and he wants to say it’s only post-battle relief, but it feels so good sitting there, not saying a word to anyone, but he doesn’t need to, and for the first time, the silence is comfortable.

 

\----

 

Steve’s sore all over and feels like he could sleep for days, but he’s so keyed he only manages to fall into a light doze, jerking awake every half an hour or so. After the fifth time, he gives up and decides to go get debriefed. It comes as no surprise to find Fury is waiting for him.

“Do you ever sleep?” he asks wryly, sinking into the chair opposite Fury’s desk. The chair is blissfully comfortable, and he wishes it was harder, if only to stop him from nodding off.

Fury gives him a very unimpressed look. “There was just a full-scale alien invasion over Manhattan which almost ended in a nuclear strike. Sleep is a luxury I will indulge in later.”

Steve bristles at the reminder. “Yes, I imagine ordering the deaths of thousands as a fail-safe would keep me up too. Or were you hoping I didn’t know what that bomb did?”

Fury frowns. “It wasn’t our call, I’m afraid. The World Security Council were not prepared to rely on you to finish it. They decided to take a risk.” Fury’s eyes harden with a cold anger. “A stupid-ass risk.”

“And here I was hoping that sort of thinking ended with the war,” Steve says, smiling bitterly. “Bad decisions happen in bad situations in the hopes it’ll stop it from becoming worse. That hasn’t changed at least.”

“There will always be more wars,” says Fury shrewdly. “But it’s my belief that there will always be those willing to step up before bad becomes worse. To fight the good fight, and lay down on the wire. I believe in those kind of heroes.”

Unwillingly, Steve feels a blush creep up his neck. Suddenly, he can’t look Fury in the eye, and wanders over to the window, glad his back is to the room. He can’t see a thing out of the darkened window, except his own face reflected back at him. At least Fury can’t see it, though he probably doesn’t need to.

“Seems you might be better at spotting those heroes than me, sir. I might have, well, I made the wrong call. About Stark.”

Seeing Fury smile was a startling thing. Steve didn’t even know his facial muscles could do that.

“People see Stark how he wants them to see him,” says Fury simply. “The world sees the billionaire playboy and adores him. Those who are close to him sees the arrogant genius who doesn’t care for anybody but himself. There aren’t many in the world who can truly call Tony Stark their friends, but those that do see what lies beneath all of that. They can see the hero.”

Steve blinked, surprised at the honesty. “I wasn’t briefed on that.”

Fury shrugs. “We’ve found that, even knowing about Tony, doesn’t help once you meet him. Stark has a hell of a shield, and I couldn’t help you see beneath it. You have to get there yourself.”

“I was ready to think he was nothing but a bully,” Steve says slowly. “A big kid with a bigger ego. Guess he pulled the wool over my eyes.”

“Guess so,” says Fury, and he doesn’t look like he believes that anymore than Steve does.

 

 ----

 

The sky was still a bruised purple when Steve awoke, the sun not even close to rising, and the world blissfully silent. The halls are empty of the usual flurry of SHIELD personnel, probably in bed trying to catch up on sleep before the next global crisis, he thinks wryly, making his way down to the entrance.

There’s a familiar figure silhouetted by the streetlamp, and for a second he’s sure its Fury with another mission, until he nears and Hawkeye throws him a tired grin.

“Barton,” he nods, only a bit awkward. Then frowns when he notices the duffle bag. “Going somewhere?”

Barton rolls his eyes. “Off for a vacation, Cap. Gonna work on my tan.” But his eyes are dull and unhappy, and Steve can put two and two together.

“They’re sending you to the Lodge?”

“Gotta make sure there isn’t still an alien-god-monster thing rattling around in there,” he smirks, and it hurts Steve to see how brittle it looks.

“Then I guess we’ll be putting the team building exercises on hold until the fun is back in town,” Steve deadpans, and that draws out a surprised bark of laughter from Barton. “Although I’m guessing it won’t be a long wait. The Lodge doesn’t have much in the way of entertainment there.”

Barton sighs theatrically. “No video games, no tv, no junk food. It’s gonna be like that time I went undercover at a yoga retreat in Ubud. Worse, probably, seeing as there won’t be any down time to get ‘friendly’ with the yoga instructors. SHIELD tend to frown on that.”

“And no one to spy on,” Steve says, pretending to fiddle with his water bottle. He can see the second it clicks on Barton’s face.

“I knew it!” he crows. “I knew you knew I was watching you when you were there. Hah, Tash owes me $50. And she thought you couldn’t have that good a poker face. How long did you know I was there?”

Steve shrugs. “Whole time. Showering is much more fun when there’s someone watching. Feels like I was back in the army.” Steve tries to keep his face mild even as Barton cackles, his bright laughter smoothing away the sorrow still lining his face. It feels good, joking with someone again. He hadn’t felt he could do that ever again, with no more Bucky teasing him by his side, no more lewd barbs without the Howling Commandos.

He’s surprised, he was sure he could never truly smile again, everyone he ever knew and loved, dead and buried. But then Tony Stark survived falling from the sky, wide eyed and babbling but the same as ever, and the fight was over, and Steve couldn’t help his lips turning up as he told him, “We won.”

And Tony’s eyes had softened, warm and deep, and something in Steve unlocked. The pain, the loneliness, the bitter seething hatred at the unfairness. It poured out of him, so sharp and cold he could barely stop himself from howling. But it didn’t let up, seeping from his heart, through his hands, his pores, his breath. He wanted to hold onto it, but it flowed, a river that doesn’t stop, doesn’t let itself be tamed. And it’s even worse, that he could feel it hollowing him out.

Now there’s space inside him opening up again, and he doesn’t want to let anything else in, not after everything, he owes them all more. He left them, and then couldn’t even die properly, and it feels so insincere, that he could even think of letting himself feel happy after everything he’s done. Or failed to do.

Maybe Barton sees that - he must know what it’s like to be lost, a ship without anchor - despite the easy-going grin his eyes are serious.“Don’t go wild without me here,” he says as he shakes Steve’s hand, and there’s a question under those words.

“I’ll hold the fort until you get back,” Steve says, and it feels like a promise.

 

 ----

 

There are fireworks in the sky, red, white and blue, setting the night ablaze with colour. Some sort of festival rages on in the park, people shouting and laughing as music blares out through the busy streets. Steve lets it all wash over him, even though every part of him wants to crawl back to his apartment, away from the people, the noice and light, away from it all. It’s nearing midnight when the voices take on a drunken edge, sleepy children being ushered away and most of the crowds start to retreat, and Steve takes it as his cue to leave.

When he gets back, he freezes in the doorway, suddenly alert. Someone has been in his apartment. His shield still lay against the bookstand, and a quick check as he scoops it up confirms that it hasn’t been tampered with or replaced. The apartment is quiet and still. He edges around the corner.

There’s a package on the table in the living room. It’s large, and Steve is instantly calculating how big a blast zone a bomb that size might cause. He should call SHIELD to come and disarm it, but then the flash of the fireworks illuminate the room. The package has ribbons.

Steve blinks, and lowers his shield. A card is perched atop the package.

He weighs his chances, and, being careful in case of trip wires or pressure plates, steps closer. The card has a cartoon on it. The cartoon man has a shield. Big block letters exclaim “HAPPY BIRTHDAY”.

Steve has an inkling of who might have broken into his house to leave a mysterious package, and a bomber with a bad sense of humour might almost be preferable. He instantly feels guilty at the unkind thought. Until he opens the card. A high-pitched Star-spangled Man With A Plan starts to play.

It’s no surprise the card is from Tony Stark. ‘So you don’t go falling back to sleep on us, old man’ is scrawled inside.

The wrapping paper is covered in little red, white and blue shields. Inside is a sea of confetti that spill out onto his carpet. The confetti is coloured too. It’s so silly and obnoxious, Steve can’t help but smile at Stark’s antics. He sweeps the confetti aside, wondering if it's some clever little gadget, and Stark bought the large box just to mess with him, when his fingers brush against cool metal. He gropes down into the depths of the box, and he can feel a shape that he knows all too well.

Now he can’t unwrap the gift fast enough, tearing through the cardboard box with ease. Gleaming brass and lacquered wood glint in the dim glow of the streetlamps outside. Steve can feel his eyes prickle, his throat tight as he traces the outline of the gramophone.

As the last of the fireworks explode outside, Steve sets one of the included records into place. Crackling music fills the room, Billie Holliday crooning softly as the night settles in, and Steve stands alone in the middle of his room as the tears drip down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is 'God bless the child' by Billie Holiday.


	2. Chatter

Every morning, often long before the sun has started to rise, Steve screams himself awake, dreams of blood and ice and fear still thundering in his head. He feels so foolish, leaving the bedside lamp on, as if he was a whimpering child scared of the shadows. But he's tired of waking to darkness and screaming for Bucky, for Peggy, for his mother as the water closes in on him, tangled in his sheets.

He sleeps on the floor, the mattress too soft, but it's not enough without the warm bodies of other soldiers close by, no murmur of quiet voices and rhythmic breathing of a peaceful camp. At least Steve has Stark's gift, the gramophone crackling away as he drifts off to sleep. When SHIELD sends him out on a recon mission in La Paz a week after his birthday, he can't bring himself to sleep without the music. The mission ends up only lasting three days, but adrenaline and the serum could compensate for so much, and he passes out on the quinjet midway through a conversation with Natasha. The next day, she turns up at his door with a small box. "Late birthday present," she says sternly, when he tries to refuse the gift.

An hour later, his iPod is set up with hundreds of songs and several playlists, with various podcasts of sport and radio shows included. Natasha doesn't have say a word, but now Steve knows he won't have to wake to silence.

He loves his gifts, both wonderful at chasing away the silence and pain in their own way, and he decides to make cards to Natasha and Stark as a thank you. He uses watercolours for Natasha's, and its a little abstract, but she seems to like that sort of thing. Steve can see the appeal as he draws out the design - the geometric pattern soothing in its own way. He feels so cheeky, giving her a drawing based on the swirling ink he'd spotted as Natasha had stripped down without a word post-La Paz, but Black Widow didn't seem to care one  jot when he shyly gave her the card. Her throaty laugh is music on its own. She smiles and its small, but for once it doesn't seem like its for show, like she's playing him, and Steve can feel his face begin to flush.

Stark's is easy, a cartoon Iron Man to match the one he gave Steve, but every time he goes to mail it, he stops. Somehow it's not the same as it is with Natasha, and the thought of Stark receiving his card and laughing makes him blush. Or Stark may not care, simply toss it aside - Steve's sure he must get gifts from people all day long. He's not sure which prospect scares him the most - making Stark happy, or Stark shrugging it off.

But then, why would someone give a gift to someone they didn't care for? Steve's seen the footage, he knows how Tony throws money at whatever strikes his fancy. But he gives to charities, funds research, supports the little guy, and makes it seem like it's nothing, even though he does more than most people ever would. Tony _cares_ , and it makes Steve ache a little to see just how much.

Except...

Steve doesn't want Stark's charity. The idea that his gift was some gesture, not empty, but perfunctory. It _hurts_. Only in the dark of his bedroom, as Steve counted the shadows to the crooning of Sinatra, did he let himself admit he didn't want Stark not to care. No one can see him (he hopes, although he wouldn't put it past SHIELD) or judge him, so he let's himself be greedy, imagines Stark laughing, smiling kind and warm and it's all for Steve.

The last thing that floats across Steve's mind as sleep claims him is if Tony likes to dance.

 

\---

 

Even though it's still early, the gallery is already crowded. Groups of tourists and school children shuffle down every other hall, as the other visitors scurry away in order to avoid them. Steve is glad for the crowds, easier to go unnoticed, and can peruse the artwork at his leisure. He's enjoying being able to catch up on 70 years of artwork.

Natasha corners him as he's puzzling over a particularly abstract piece. "What do you think?" he says, gesturing at the haphazard splashes of colour. 

"Ugly," she says shortly, grabbing Steve's arm and begins to drag him away.

"Hang on," Steve protests, but she shoots him a sharp look and he closes his mouth with a snap. It's a look that demands no arguments.

A sleek black car is idling outside, and Steve is shoved into the backstreet without preamble. The driver grins at his disgruntled grumbling. Natasha has barely closed the door before the car screeches away from the curb, weaving in and out of traffic like fish through water.

"What's all this about?" Steve asks carefully. There doesn't appear to be any immediate danger, and the driver does not seem like a SHIELD agent.

Natasha slumps down until she can prop her knees up against the back of the front car seat. "I'm kidnapping you, Cap."

"If you're looking for a ransom, I'm afraid you'll find that my folks aren't very chatty anymore," Steve deadpans. The driver laughs.

"Sorry Cap, there's going to be torture first," Natasha says, face straight.

The driver takes pity on him. "Mr. Stark is having a party, and Ms. Rushman insisted on being the one to get you."

"Tony wanted to send the jet, but I figured you might appreciate the Jag," Natasha chimes in.

Steve blinked. "Where exactly is this party?" Then he parses over the previous sentences. "And who's Ms. Rushman?"

"New York to the first, and me to the second," Natasha smirks. "I told Tony not to spoil you. You'd get a big head if he insisted on flying you everywhere, especially when it's only a couple of hours drive. Happy volunteered," she nodded towards the driver, "So that we can have a nice long chat in a confined space. Escape is non-optional."

"You know I'd never pass up an opportunity to talk to a fine dame like yourself," Steve says lightly, but his heart flutters in panic. Natasha had been odd ever since she had found the card Steve refused to send to Stark, and Steve's certain she made sure it ended up in Stark's hands, but if he had any response, she hadn't said a word, and Stark hadn't reached out to him all summer.

Natasha sighs, long and loud, slumping a little more in her seat. "Steve, it's been nearly five months since you got out of the ice, and you haven't connected with a single person."

Steve freezes. So she didn't want to talk about Stark; she wanted to talk about _him_. He wonders if his therapist has been faithful to that confidentiality agreement, or maybe Natasha is just that good. He knows that connecting has been something everyone keeps telling him to do. But not connecting with _anyone_?

"I think we get on alright," Steve says, trying not to show he's a little hurt.

The smile on Natasha's face is sad. "We work together. We've had three missions together, not counting the Loki thing. That's the only reason we talk at all. I'm good at reading people, Steve, it's kind of my job. Suddenly being dropped into a new place, a new life, and everyone expects you to remain the same and also change."

Steve wants to argue. but he doesn't dare say a word. Natasha seems open, in a way he's never seen, and he suspects this is a rare privilege. She reaches out for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "When I joined SHIELD," she says, voice growing soft. "I was prepared to be alone. I knew they still saw me as what I was before, they saw the enemy, and everyone stood in wait with their pitchforks. That's what I thought. I don't know if I was right in thinking that, but I did. But Steve," she squeezed his hand. "I didn't have to be alone. There were people beside me that were fine with who I was. They cared about me, long after I thought people no longer could. I just had to let myself see."

Steve hastily swallowed past the lump in his throat, turning away. He could feel his eyes prickle with the threat of tears, lungs squeezing too tight like an asthma attack. The hand tangled in his was very warm. Outside, trees lined the road like a wall. The world had never looked so large. As the tears spilled out over his cheeks, that warmth never left his.

For once, the silence was welcome.

 

\---

 

"Habby Birday!" Stark yells, planting a sloppy kiss on Rhodey's cheek.

"You're drinking soda, Tones," Rhodey laughs, digging fingers into Stark's side.

Stark wriggled away, only to hip bump him back. "I'm making an effort to be like I usually am! You're having a good time, there's alcohol, all these guests - you need some familiarity, I know these things can get confusing in old age."

Stark dances out of the way from Rhodey's playful swipe. "I'm like a fine wine, I only get better with age," Rhodey gloats. "At least I still haven't found a grey hair."

"You're going grey?" Barton calls delightedly.

Stark lets out a high-pitched shriek, pointing accusingly at Rhodey. "Traitor! That information was given in good faith and in a time of crisis! JARVIS, cancel this party, I'm revoking best friend rights!"

"J, BELAY THAT!" Rhodey yells, and laughs when JARVIS replies "As you wish, Mr Rhodes." Tony declares mutiny and pretends to stomp off in a pout.

Steve hangs to the side, watching all this with a ginger beer clutched in his hand. Rhodey's birthday party is nothing huge, a collection of friends from the military and Stark Industries, and all the Avengers except for Thor. There's a great deal of laughter, and the music is something jazzy without any of the pulsing beats that seem popular now. It's nice, but out of uniform, Steve feels awkward, unsure of how to talk to these people. He'd gravitated towards the few guests in military uniform, but then the enormous black forest cake had been brought out, and the singing and toasts made Steve feel like an interloper once again.

"Hiding, are we?" Bruce asks, sidling up to join him on the balcony.

Steve grins guiltily. "Would you buy it if I said I was just getting some air?"

Bruce gently knocks his glass against Steve's bottle. "Then here's to getting some air and definitely not hiding," he toasts into the cool night air. He notices Steve's surprised look at his glass. "Iced tea, alcohol doesn't go well with me."

"And you don't," Steve struggles to find the right way to phrase it, "find it a difficult atmosphere?"

Bruce laugh is tinged with sadness. "Yes, this is definitely something I would have avoided a year ago. Too much could go wrong, and I try to stay away from large, er, crowds. But I figure, who better to have around in case of emergency than the Avengers."

There's something in his tone that strikes Steve as off. "To calm you down?" he asks, and he knows at once from Bruce's face that isn't what he meant at all.

"To bring me down," Bruce says quietly.

Steve clenches his jaw. "It won't ever come to that. You're a good man, Bruce. And braver than you know. You're trying to good, to do better, and that's all that matters, in the end." Steve hesitates, then pats Bruce's shoulder. It's saddening, how surprised Bruce is, that someone still dares to touch him. "It'll be fine. We're looking out for you."

Bruce's grin is wobbly. "Put on the spangly outfit and swear on the stars and stripes, and then I might believe you."

It feels so good to laugh, especially when Bruce gets a pleased little grin as Steve mock salutes.

Stark staggers over, arm in arm with a statuesque blonde. "There's my two little rays of sunshine!" Stark says brightly. "Please, don't stop trading jokes on our behalf, I can see there's some enthralling comedy going on over here, introductions can wait."

"Please don't try and upstage my title as resident jokester, Tony" Bruce deadpans. The little furrow in Stark's brow smooths out as his face lights up at the banter.

Steve takes note of that tell, that this is how Stark looks when he worries for others, fretting over his friend, and tries to stamp down that little pleased leap of his heart. It wasn't even _for_  him. But then Stark is poking Steve, looking pained. "Tell Bruce how wrong he is, and how I'm the most serious and unfunny person you've ever met."

"But I like that you're funny," Steve says without thinking, and goes beet red. Stark and Bruce and the blonde woman are staring at him.

"Um, I was," Tony looks a little thrown. "That was sarcasm, Cap. I'm pretty sure that existed back in - but you, you don't like..." He trails off, apparently lost for words. Steve can feel the blush spreading down his neck and shoulders.

Help comes from Stark's companion, who digs an elbow into his side. "Oh my god, Tony, you were right, he really is that cute." Now it's Stark's turn to blush, and the woman throws back her head with a booming laugh. She has a long throat, elegant, a small bruise just under the jaw. Of course Stark is the type to leave hickeys. Steve clenches his hands.

"You shouldn't be mean to me at my party," Stark mumbles, but the woman only grins.

"It's Rhodey's birthday, you're just catering, I can be as embarrassing as I like to you. Speaking of which, we should totally invite Cap too." She glances at Steve. "Do you mind me calling you 'Cap', or would you prefer Steve?"

"Oh, er, Steve is fine," he says, still flustered. First Pepper, now her - clearly, Steve thinks, Stark has a type. Fearless, headstrong - tall and blonde too. Not that Steve cares.

"Awesome, Steve, well everyone else has just about left now, so we're about to start the movie marathon. It's very VIP, invite only, plus we could use those nice strong arms of yours. So grab all the snacks you can carry.”

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude-" Steve begins, but the woman overrides him, yelling over her shoulder.

"Rhodes, Steve is gonna intrude on the movie marathon!"

"Excellent! I demand first flick is Top Gun then!" Rhodey yells back, and the woman and Stark both let out an excited whoop as Bruce groans. The woman dances away, chanting "FLIGHT TEAM! FLIGHT TEAM!" and Rhodey reaches out to high-five her.

"I'll just be going," Bruce mutters, attempting to slink away, but Clint and Natasha swoop down and grab and arm each, frogmarching him over to the sofa. Steve's wondering if he can feign tiredness and excuse himself, but when he turns to tell him so, Stark's face catches him off guard. His smile is a little sheepish, but he still looks happy, bright and excited that make his brown eyes shine. No wonder all the ladies get weak in the knees around him.

"No backing out, Cap. Carol's word is law," Stark intones solemnly, the cheeky smile ruining the effect, and without a word, grabs Steve's sleeve and tugs him over to the lift. "There's gonna be an argument about who's Maverick, and I'm relying on your backup."

The blush starts up again at the thought that Stark wants his help. He likes the thought, that they were on the same side. Teammates. He can't hide a tiny grin at the thought. In the kitchen, Stark piles boxes and bags into Steve's arms, chattering away with a distracted air. He keeps glancing at Steve and running fingers through his hair, toussling it, and the rumpled look makes Steve's belly swoop. Together, they haul the snacks back upstairs, the rest of the group already sprawled around the enormous TV screen.

There's a conspicuously large space left vacant on one of the sofas, Natasha smirking at Steve's suspicious glare. It would be obvious if he tried to avoid it, so Steve sits without a fuss. Surprisingly, Stark is the one to hesitate, making to go join Rhodey, and then seeing no space, Bruce, and Steve tries to tell himself it doesn't hurt.

"Hurry up and sit down, Tony," Natasha says flatly.

Stark sits.

The lights dim as the film begins, although the chatter doesn't let up as people continue to move about, grabbing snacks and murmuring to one another. Beside him, Stark is tense, fingers never still as he picks at his clothes, taps on his chest, shooting glances at Steve all the while.

They haven't spoken since Loki was captured, and the silence between them eats away at Steve. He thinks of Stark's gift, of the card he couldn't even bring himself to send, of all the cruel words he'd said on that Helicarrier and never apologised for. Stark seems to be such a smooth talker, can talk rings around Steve without a thought. Hell, he'd been doing it all his life, if the interviews are anything to go by. But he can never seem to say the things he means, and maybe that's the crux of it. Steve is waiting for Stark to say the words he can't, to reach out, except he _has_ , he's done it without a word.

Steve isn't very good at expressing himself. He prefers action any day of the week. But it's not fair to sit and wait and want without doing his part.

"I always wanted a gramophone," he says softly, mindful as the opening credits start. Beside him, Stark's hands still. "But my ma, she couldn't afford something so fancy. Me and my friend, Arnie, we would go 'round the neighbourhood, looking in trash and taking what we could. He was real clever, Arnie was - he was good at fixing things. Bit like you, real handy. One day, we find this radio, and Arnie says he'll fix it, no problem. I remember telling my ma, and she was so excited. She told me when it was working, she'd teach me how to dance. Gotta know how to dance, she says, so I can find that special lady."

The music from the movie is loud, Rhodey and Clint yelling things at the characters. Stark seems engrossed in the film, eyes fixed on the screen, but his body is turned slightly, head to the side. Steve not even sure if he's listening, but he continues anyway.

"My ma, she got sick not long after. We put the radio in her room, so she could listen. I remember thinking I would never be able to listen to music again, without thinking of her. I was right. 'Cept it didn't make me sad. That music, it's a gift. So I don't forget. The bad, and the good."

Heart pounding, Steve chanced a peek at Stark, but he'd turned his face away. His hands were clenched into fists on his legs. Maybe the darkness helped him be bold; daringly, Steve reached over to brush his fingers against Stark's fist, who startled at the touch. It felt painfully intimate. At least the darkness hid his blush.

"Thank you, Tony."

How strange, that those words felt so huge. There was something unlocking within him, a stirring that he hadn't felt since before the ice. Steve was sure the whole room could hear his thundering heart.

Focusing determinedly on the movie, Steve clasped his hands together, hoping to stop the trembling. Anxiety was rising up, saying he'd said too much, crossed a line Stark didn't want crossed. He'd never been good at talking about these things.

Warmth blazes along his side. Steve jumped as Stark leaned their shoulders together, closer than they've ever been. The light of the screen illuminating his face. And there it was. That soft little smile that he'd flashed at Bruce earlier, that showed whenever he was with Rhodey, when he talked about Pepper Potts.

“You’re staying for the sleepover after the marathon," Stark says, and he says it as if it is assured, as if he doesn't look just as nervous as Steve feels. "And by sleepover, I mean all of us passing out halfway through the marathon. I know you don’t want to go home and sleep alone anyway.” He looks so surprised those last words slip out, and Steve can barely surpress the laughter bubbling up inside him.

He shifts, so his arm is pressed against the length of Stark's side. "Sounds like a plan, Tony," he murmurs.

He feels so very warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept full-body blushing Steve as your lord and saviour.


	3. Cacophony

Blood pours down his face, seeping in between his lips, dripping off his chin. Steve stumbles, vision swimming, raising his shield, but it's not fast enough, a flash of metal all the warning he gets before the fist slams into his jaw. There's a wet ripping sound as pain explodes across his face, flesh and muscle ripped apart under unforgiving metal knuckles, the punches not stopping, and blackness swallows his vision.

It's only a second or two, but when his vision clears, and Bucky hovers over him, expression torn, fist raised, and Steve may not be able to save him, but he won't leave him again, and Steve can't let himself think about the others, can't wonder if they'll miss him as he chokes out past his shattered teeth, "Then finish it."

Bucky swings his fist down.

 

\--

 

Steve's first Christmas in the 21st century is by far the busiest he's ever had.

He'd been popular after the serum, with people vying for his attention left and right, but he'd always tried to spend it with the people he loved. Usually Bucky and the Commandos, huddled around a campfire, getting drunk and singing raunchy ballads and pub songs, as they feasted on their 'Christmas rations'. But there was one rare Christmas they'd all been back in the US, and Howard had declared that to celebrate he was going to throw a massive party. His house had been covered in paper streamers, foil baubles winking merrily along the walls - even with all his wealth, Howard was making do with homemade decorations just like everyone else. But he'd splashed out in one area - several tables groaning under plates of food piled high.

The party had been packed, children screaming with glee as they wove in between men and women in uniform, as the elderly lined the tables and chairs, dressed in their Sunday best. It wasn't the first time Steve had seen that Howard was more than the flashy fella he pretended to be for the crowds, but that Christmas Eve, surrounded by ordinary folks from the area dancing and laughing, it had warmed something in Steve he'd almost lost in the blood and pain of Europe. Reminded him what he was fighting for. He still laughs at the memory of Peggy looking exasperated when she came to his rescue from a group of nonnas trying to ply him with food, their hands unapologetic in their roving as they jabbered away in rapid-fire Italian, and he'd been working up the courage to ask her for a dance, but then Dum-Dum climbed on one of the tables to give a long, heartfelt ode to the glory of freshly cooked meat. As the rest of the Commandos shouted out other foods to toast to, the other guests roaring with laughter, Steve had decided it could wait until after the war had come to an end. 

It'd been one of his brightest memories, what helped him get up and fight long after he should have stayed down. Those precious moments that still helped him get up out of bed, to still rise to face each day, even now, seventy years later, when the cruel biting thoughts clamour too loud in his head, urging him to curl away from the new, bright world and simply fade into memory.

He'd been sure he'd never experience anything close to something like that again, to have that level of camaraderie, that sense of belonging, of peace - but as usual, he had underestimated the tenacity of the people in the future. When he tries to leave the morning after the party, Natasha points out that there are repairs needed for the Tower, and maybe he should help out, and somehow, the odd jobs Steve needs to do there never stop coming, and it takes him two weeks to realise this was probably planned.

He can't bring himself to mind.

It's strange, how easy it is to be around everyone at the Tower. Mostly it's Tony buzzing around, chattering away to Pepper Potts about refurbishment costs and the logistics needed for a Hulk and God of Thunder-proof training room. When she returns to the west coast, Tony descends on Bruce or Rhodey, arguing about robotics or the merits of giving the automatic sliding doors on each floor sound effects. Tony seems normal for a few days after Pepper leaves, still bouncing around like an overexcited puppy, but there's something strained that lingers in the lines around his eyes, a tight fear that has him jumping at sudden noises and never letting any rooms in the Tower to go dark. Rhodey's mouth thins into a tight line whenever Tony isn't watching, eyes dark with worry, but Tony seems determined not to sit still, flitting from one project to another. Steve wants to reach out, catch his arm and pull him close, tell him it's OK, but Tony's gotten worse, shies away from any attempts at contact not initiated by himself, a defensive snarl on his lips before it smooths away an instant later, so Steve backs off, and tells himself it doesn't matter whenever Tony drapes himself on Rhodey instead.

Two weeks after the birthday party, Clint arrives at 3am sporting a magnificent black eye and split lip, arms full of gaming consoles and a single duffel-bag. He doesn't seem to leave after that. He injects a large dose of sarcasm and total lack of brevity to everything that seems to lift thee dark mood Steve hadn't even noticed hanging over them all. Clint happily needles Tony and Bruce, teasing and poking until they relax. It seems to work a treat, Tony brightening at his new playmate, and Bruce seems to relax even further, making little quips and teasing in turn, closer to the Dr Banner from the footage, lab coat on and grinning from ear to ear.

He introduces Steve to video games, which of course Steve knew about, but he never realised sitting on a sofa screaming at a TV screen as Bruce smugly threw a green shell could be so much fun. He gets better too, and it's not long before Clint sinks to sabotage. He gets food flicked at him, jostling, even Clint planting himself onto Steve's lap, crowing with victory when Steve's character dies, even as Steve all but flings him off, wrestling him to the ground.

Game night often dissolves into a tussle between them, Bruce and Rhodey unabashedly egging them on.

It takes a while before Steve notices that Tony doesn't stick around for that. Clint is overly physical, poking and tickling, constantly crowding into Steve's space, and he doesn't mind it, but every time Clint gets too close, something dark flickers over Tony's face, barely there, except he always excuses himself, strolling away as if their antics are boring. It's odd, because he does more or less the same with Rhodey, only with less rolling on the floor. It probably means nothing.

Steve never notices when Natasha moves in, except that she's suddenly at breakfast in threadbare pyjamas, humming under her breath as she makes omelettes. It should be awkward, living with a female, even though it isn't frowned upon in this day and age, and Steve can never quite get passed some social mores, but Natasha makes it easy, flirting shamelessly with everyone, as she swans in and out like she owns the place. Steve's glad for her presence, when Clint latches onto her the moment she arrives suddenly Tony seems to be all smiles, apparently now happy to join in on game night. Steve just can't work him out, even as Clint acts just as he did before, except now with Natasha laughing along with them as Steve twists Clint into a headlock for stealing all his candy in Mario Party.

Carol pops in every now and then too, another person who doesn't mind getting physical with Steve. She introduces Steve to kale shakes, playfully jumping on him when he pretends to gag over the drink, her laughter warm and bright in his ear as she clings to his neck. It's during this that Tony walks in, and does a double take, eyes going startle wide before narrowing. His smile is edged when he starts ranting on about the vile green concoction as he makes his own horrific health shake. His jokes are a little sharper than usual, his eyes flitting between the two with a pinched look. Steve recognises that look from game night, would think nothing of it, but when next she comes by, Tony all but ignores Carol, his every word biting cold. Carol shrugs it off, 'protective' she says simply when Steve asks, except it makes no sense for Tony to be protective if he thinks that, what, Steve's leading Carol on? He ignores that quiet part of him that suggests it's  _ him _ Tony's being protective of. That kind of thinking only leads to disappointment.

It takes three whole visits from Carol before Steve catches her teasing Rhodey about his recent flight test and the penny drops. At least it explains 'protective', even if it's galling that Tony could ever think he'd move in on someone else's gal. Still, watching them playfully shove and bicker and tease makes Steve ache, that easy dynamic of push-and-pull peppered with little intimate touches so inviting, and he tries not to stare longingly, especially when Tony arrives and immediately plants himself at Steve's side with a sharp-edged grin, passive-aggressively herding him away from the other two in his own Tony-like way. It would be easy to correct that misconception, tell Tony he's mistaken, but Tony's attention is directed solely at him for the first time in weeks, months, and Steve can't help but greedily soak up the attention.

Steve absently fixes them all coffee just so he has something to focus on, but Tony is determined to get in his way, constantly manoeuvring himself so that he's always front and centre in Steve's space, only relaxing a little when Steve makes no move to try and get away.

Tony's rambling about 'the best brands of beans, and there's this little place in Queens that does the best cappuccinos outside of Italy, Steve, trust me I know, we should go there sometime, not now obviously, it's the middle of the night, but in the morning, I'll even shout you, I'm just that kind of gentleman. Please, save your swooning for later, honey', and it almost feels fine, an easy back and forth that for once isn't edged with tension, like Tony can barely stand talking to him for more than a few minutes.

It's been months since they've been alone like this, actually chatting that isn't just polite small talk to fill the space before Tony can turn away to someone else, it's all for Steve, feels so good that he lets himself match Tony's flirting, let's his comments fall just shy of suggestive. He shouldn't, of course he shouldn't, and Tony immediately tenses, words drying up but totally alert, a cat that's seen the flicker of a mouse's tail. Steve winces, and licks his lips, preparing to apologise or make a joke of it, anything to get Tony back to being comfortable. Tony's eyes flicker down, just a second, and his darken with something that makes Steve's stomach clench, and then Tony's leaning in, lids lowered, so easily seductive that Steve's caught, helplessly responding, leaning in too. He's close enough to see how long Tony's eyelashes are, his lips wet where he's licked them, and Steve can't stop glancing down at them. Tony's breath is warm on his face.

"Fancy a game of pool, boys?" Carol says behind them, and they both jump apart. Tony's already grinning, eyes cutting away from him, insisting that he'll be victorious as he hands Carol her coffee, chattering away as usual, and Steve's left wondering if he'd just fallen asleep and imagined it all in his head when Tony glances back for a split second, expression unreadable, but mouth still glistening wet. Steve lets out a long breath, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Rhodey claps him on the shoulder. "C'mon Cap, you can be on my team. Those two can be insufferable glory hounds together." His tone is light, but his eyes are knowing, of course he noticed, Tony is his best friend, and Steve wasn't exactly subtle just then. Rhodey doesn't say a word, but there's something wary in his eyes as he searches Steve's face. Some of his confusion must shine through, because Rhodey tightens his grip and leans in close to breathe, "You better be sure, Cap." Steve swallows, glancing at Tony's back. He isn't sure at all. What he's feeling... it's not real. He's confused, latching onto Tony or something. It's all jumbled, but Steve won't ruin what he's got right now just because he can't figure out his head from his heart. He repeats that it's nothing every time Tony smiles, hoping one day he'll actually believe it.

 

\---

 

Stark Tower seems to collect such an odd amalgamation of people, but somehow it works, it feels safe, welcoming, and Steve lets himself think, like  _ home.  _ Until Tony leaves.

After the incident in the kitchen, Tony's been hot and cold nonstop. Some days he seems normal, if not flirting a little bit too much, but he's talking to Steve, still laughing and joking and it seems like things are fine after that... confusion. But then there are times Tony is brutally hostile, sharp barbs that hit home in all of Steve's vulnerable places, just like it was on the Helicarrier, leaving Steve to wonder what he's done. It feels like he's constantly walking on eggshells, uncertain what will set Tony off. He wants to ask the others, who notice the switch in attitude immediately, but if he does, it's certain they will find out what Steve did.

He figures it would be best to clear off for a bit, even if it hurts to think that he'll be spending Christmas alone, but Tony needs his space, and he needs to get his head in order. He's made his decision, packed a rucksack full of his things, only to wake up the next morning to find Tony's left.

"SI stuff," Natasha explains with a nonchalant shrug, but her eyes remain fixed on him as she slowly works through her stack of pancakes. Steve struggles to remain calm, his mind racing. He's driven Tony out of his own building, all because he couldn't remember his own damn boundaries. There were lines not meant to be crossed, and now he's driven away Tony. He should have apologised immediately, he was  _ supposed _ to be brave, when in the end the only persons well being he was thinking about was his own.

The Tower, once warm and welcoming, feels like a prison, making Steve itch to leave. But that would just be running away, and he can't just leave things as is without letting Tony know he's sorry. He's glad the weather turns winter sharp, an excuse to stay indoors, it feels like a cage, and it's good, better this way, Steve deserves this punishment. He wanders the corridors, spends countless hours in the gym, wanting to escape the others, sure they are judging him for driving Tony away.

Natasha finds him in there, the reinforced punching bags already straining under the relentless onslaught of his fists. "This needs to stop, Steve," she says, arms crossed.

He barely glances at her. "I'm a little busy."

She hisses through her teeth, a sharp, angry sound, and that's all the warning he gets before her hand closes over his wrist and twists. Her right leg snaps hard into the back of his knee and making him buckle, her left leg swinging up to hook over his throat, and there's a barely there pause as he hangs in the air, before she slams him down into the gym mat hard. He gasps, completely winded, head spinning as Natasha sits on his chest.

"You've been holding back when we spar," he says weakly.

She doesn't smile. "Running away from your problems isn't your style."

Steve's actually offended. "But I'm  _ not _ running away, that's why I'm still here."

Sharp fingernails digs into his rib-cage, over his heart, Natasha's face utterly cold. "You're running," she murmurs, a deadly hush in her voice that has Steve's heart thundering, every instinct screaming danger. "You're running from us, you're running from Tony, but you're mostly running from yourself. Don't use your past as an excuse, Steve, it's not right, and it's not fair, on you or on us."

Anger rises up, fills out the hollowness in his chest, makes him grab hold of her wrists in a too-hard grip. "You think  _ you  _ of all people can lecture me on what is and isn't right?" he snarls, and Natasha's face goes blank. Immediately, he wants to take those words back, but Natasha simply drops her whole body, elbow tucked under her to drive hard into his stomach.

He dry heaves, curling around his middle as she stands, face still eerily blank.

"You brought this on yourself, Steve," she intones, sweeping out of the gym, only sign of anger the tight line of her shoulders.

Steve shudders out a painful breath, wondering why it is that since he's woken up, he can only seem to drive people away.

Natasha's ominous pronouncement becomes clear when Jan arrives two weeks before Christmas demanding Steve accompanies her with her shopping. He'd met the whirlwind that is Janet Van Dyne at Halloween, when she had successfully argued her way into getting Tony to throw a massive fancy dress ‘party’ at Central Park that seemed more like a festival . "To curry favour and promote a more positive image with the disaffected public," she'd said by way of explanation, even as she wheeled in a rack of exotic looking outfits, Tony's grin Cheshire-wide when Steve turned to him in panic. Jan clapped her hands together, business-like. "Now take your clothes off and let me see what I'm working with, Hot Stuff."

As far as revenge goes, it could be worse, especially considering it's Natasha, and as... overwhelming as Jan's personality can be, he doesn't mind her company at all. But Jan isn't one you can simply say no to, so Steve resigns himself to a day of fighting through the Christmas rush, being bumped into as he carries bags of shopping for her. It's a surprise when Jan drags him down to the Rockefeller Plaza, and the enormous tree stills stands proudly in the midst of swarms of people. It's lit up like a beacon, but it's breathtaking all the same, and he tries not to think of his mother taking him to this very spot to look at it back when it first appeared, a lifetime ago. They stand there together for a long time, Jan curled against his side, her mittened hand in his, and Steve's glad that she doesn't comment when the white clouds of his breath come a little faster and ragged. He wonders if his mom is watching him from Heaven, shaking her head fondly at her foolish son. The thought makes his eyes sting.

"You OK?" Jan whispers, squeezing his hand gently.

Steve opens his mouth, but the words get caught in his throat, and he can only give a sharp nod. Her eyes cloud with worry, so he squeezes her hand back and musters a shaky smile. "I'm good. Just... sometimes I forget that this is still my home, no matter how much it's changed, there's always these little reminders that catch me up."

Jan's eyes are soft, understanding. "But it's good?" she asks.

"Yeah," Steve breathes, watching the lights glint golden on the Prometheus statue. "It's good."

"C'mon, time for a little pick-me-up!" Jan grins, tugging him away through the crowd, and once again Steve's struck by how similar she and Tony are. They always seem able to know when he needs to be distracted from himself.

Macy's is absolute chaos - Christmas trees and elves scurrying between toy trains and fake snow, Santa sitting in the middle, his booming laugh washing over the line of excited kids, swinging on their parents arms, or clutching letters painstakingly written out in blocky script. Steve's expecting that they'll be shopping for the presents here, but Jan has other plans, dragging him back into the sharp winter air to stroll down the streets of midtown. Jan darts in and out of shops, often without buying a thing, touching everything as she hunts for the most outrageous object in each store. Her excitement is so infectious that Steve can't help but to laugh along with her, a giddy joy that makes him feel drunk, singing Christmas carols and laughing too loudly, making the other pedestrians shoot them dark looks, but neither of them care. Finally it's too much when they're told very firmly to leave a clothing store when the shopkeeper catches them playing Hide and Seek in the racks, and they spill out onto the streets, both cackling madly as Jan throws herself onto Steve's back, shopping bags and all, and he holds her easily, the cold night air not closing his lungs up one bit as they used to before the serum, and he can't resist skipping down the icy streets, Jan gleefully shrieking in his ear whenever he slips a little on the icy pavement.

When they arrive back at the tower, both flushed pink and exhausted, Bruce rolls his eyes and quietly sets about making them two steaming mugs of hot chocolate as they collapse into the kitchen chairs. Steve pauses before drinking his - the cocoa powder sprinkled on the top of the creamy brown looks red. Steve's wondering if it's OK to tell Bruce his cinnamon looks off, but then Bruce chuckles sprinkling some onto his own coco.

"It's chilli," he explains, nodding at the red stuff. Steve wants to be appalled, but Bruce isn't the type for pranks - well, not as much as the others - but he's drinking his own coco, zen as anything, so Steve takes a hesitant sip, and the sweetness mixed with the sharp after-burn is surprisingly good.

"We didn't get much shopping done, but  _ c'est la vie _ ," Jan says, plopping three marshmallows into her mug and hooking her ankle around Steve's as she takes a large gulp with a pleased sigh.

Steve wants to tell her it was amazing, that he hadn't laughed like this for years, that it was one of the best nights of his life, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get tangled on his tongue.

"Thank you," he manages, and the rest doesn't come, but Jan seems to understand anyway, her smile soft and so very kind. They drink the rest of their hot chocolate in companionable silence.

He thinks that's it for Natasha's 'revenge' or whatever it is, until the woman herself barges into his room three days later in a stunning cocktail dress of red velvet and shoves him in a car without so much as a how do you do - it's beginning to feel familiar, thinks Steve resignedly - and they drive to Brooklyn. There's a dinner jacket folded carefully in the backseat, but Natasha gropes behind her and carelessly flings it onto his lap, eyes never leaving the road. Steve feels foolish tugging it on over his shirt and jeans, even though he's seen the look sported by countless people since waking up from the ice, but Natasha seems it be in one of her moods, the kind that usually end with someone's fingers being broken, so Steve keeps his opinions about fashion to himself for the moment.

The moment passes.

"I look stupid," Steve doesn't whine because he is a grown adult man and is definitely not sulking.

"You look perfectly hipster," Natasha throws back glibly.

Steve scowls. "Don't think I don't know what that means, 'cause I do. And I was doing it before it was cool.

Natasha heaves a long sigh. "I've  _ got _ to stop you hanging out with Clint, you'll pick up all his bad habits." She paused thoughtfully, as they pulled up outside a brightly lit building. "Not that he has any good ones. Now play nice, or I'll be forced to taser your ass." 

"Ballet?" Steve says blankly, staring at the posters splashed across the theatre entrance.

Natasha shrugs. " _ The Nutcracker _ is a Christmas tradition. Well, it's mine, and Clint weaselled out like the dirty coward he is, so you get to be my lucky date." Steve promises himself darkly that Clint was going to get his Christmas gift of a massive ass kicking after this.

Steve shivers as he steps out onto the curb, the jacket doing nothing to stop the icy breeze blowing through him, and eyeing Natasha's fur wrap enviously. "I'm not much of an aficionado of ballet, Tasha," he warns, absently offering her his arm out of habit. The gentle guiding pressure of her hand in the crook of his elbow is surprisingly comforting.

Her snort was rather unladylike. "Of course not, no one but Tony does." She sighs as they enter the warmth of the theatre, her grip firm as she steered him through the throngs of well-dressed people milling in the foyer. "But he's busy with  _ actual  _ company related things, unfortunately. Pepper was going to murder him if he tried to miss one more board meeting, so he's coming over in a few days, but the show will be over by then, and I'm not missing it, even if it means going without him. I had to remind him that he owed me, and make lots of threats -  _ he _ seemed to think he was spending Christmas abroad. Ha! You're both as bad as each other, I swear."

Steve winced as her voice trailed off into a dark mutter, even as his stomach leapt at the thought that Tony will be back soon. Even if Natasha was doing this for herself, Steve felt pathetically grateful. He was coming back. It would be OK, he'd apologise to Tony, maybe grovel for a bit, and then Tony would forgive him, and things would be how they were before. Still, it was certainly not what he would have pictured, Tony enjoying ballet, much less with  _ Natasha _ . He'd always thought they hadn't got along; or at least, that Tony had a crippling fear that she would kick his ass five ways to Sunday at any given moment. Natasha had admitted that she liked to cultivate that belief in people. ' _ It's a Russian spy thing _ ', she'd said, and Steve was still unsure if she was kidding or not. Although after the thing in the gym, he was suspecting she was not.

Steve chose his words carefully, mindful that he was treading in dangerous territory and risking pissing her off again. He wasn't sure he could survive her being angry without a hospital visit next time. "I wouldn't have thought Tony had those kind of interests. And shared, you know, that sorta thing with you. Regularly, I mean. He seems like he’d prefer rock concerts to all,” he waved his arm vaguely, “this."

Natasha grinned at last, painted mouth curling and eyes going jewel-bright. The usher almost dropped their tickets, face going slightly pink. "He's only come with me once, last year. I wouldn't have asked, and he wouldn't have come, but Tony was mending a broken heart at the time, so he was... more malleable than usual. Plus he likes me, but don't tell him I know that. He gets all precious when it comes to people being his actual friends."

Steve's proud he barely stumbles. "Tony's seeing someone, then?" he asks, going for casual, before remembering that his poker-face probably won't hold up against one of the best spies in the world.

The glint in Natasha's eye as she sinks into their seats tells him he isn't fooling anyone.

"You don't know about that?" she says, mimicking his unconcerned, casual tone. "Tony and Pepper had... 'a thing'. There was lots of flirting and unresolved sexual tension, and then Tony was dying and he made Pepper CEO, and, well." She shrugged.

"I don't follow," Steve admits slowly. Natasha rolls her eyes, which he thinks is rather unfair considering she's  _ trained _ in reading people.

"Tony was dying. That was when Fury assigned me to him." Steve nods. He's heard about that meeting, seen the shaky phone recordings of that disastrous birthday party, but he suspects there's more there, from how Rhodey's eyes flicker with something dark when he mentions how he became War Machine, something more to Tony's drunken antics. But that's part of Tony's past, and Steve's promised himself not to get involved where he's not welcome.

Natasha sighs, kicking off her heels to tuck her feet up under her on the seat, ignoring the scandalised looks from the people along their row. "He wanted to push Pepper away, keep her safe. From him. Tony has the ridiculous idea that he can control how people feel about him, that he could make them not care so when he died they wouldn't be hurt. Plus he's even worse when it comes to relationships that are in any way meaningful. He's such a crippling ball of anxiety and low self-esteem, thinking he needs to cover it up with all this machismo and big gestures. He's a goddamn wreck, but I've grown to love him for it."

The lights dim and the curtains draw back, making it impossible to read Natasha's face. Steve says nothing - she's told him all of this for a reason. As the show starts, he thinks about how Tony is the best as seeming like he doesn't care at all. And that he's probably the one that cares more than anyone. It hurts, how wrong Steve was about Tony.

 

\---

 

It's four days before Christmas when Tony arrives, and Steve can't help staring. Tony looks  _ awful _ . There's dark circles under his eyes, his normally golden-tanned skin looks sickly pale, and there's a manic energy to him that is worrying. He's babbling, starting a new sentence midway through another one; all signs of a caffeine high and no sleep, except that he's normally in the middle of some project, eyes wide with a fevered energy. Tony's eyes look scared. He flits around the room, touching everything, insults and jokes and mathematical equations all jumbled together that he's like a well-educated parakeet. It's enough to agitated Bruce, a muscle jumping dangerously in his jaw as his eyes glaze, and Clint wisely jumps in to drag him away before they have a bigger problem on their hands.

Steve's never dealt with this Tony before, jittery and rude but clearly not thinking right, he's never seen the great futurist so... so  _ afraid _ . Which isn't to say he hasn't dealt with this sort of behaviour before; he's no fool, he knows the signs, seen them enough in soldiers after they come back from the front lines, when the full reality of the situation crashes down on them. Somehow, he always thought Tony was above it all. Somewhere along the line, he bought into the lie again, believed that the facade Tony showed him was the real one. How conceited, to think he would ever get the privilege of knowing an unguarded Tony. But there's no Rhodey, no Pepper, no Jan to help him navigate these waters, but Steve will be damned if he'll run away from this, even if he's not the one Tony wants.

"Tony," Steve calls, but the only sign he was even heard is a slight break in the agitated stream of chatter.

Steve reaches for him, and Tony jumps back, eyes wide with alarm, and for a second he looks at Steve as though he's a stranger. He swallows, flexing his fingers a little, but he deserves that reaction, he gave up the right to touch that night in the kitchen. But now isn't the time for apologies, not when Tony's wound up so tight he's almost vibrating.

"Tony," he repeats, gentler, palms out to show he means no harm, "It's OK. I'm here."

Tony's eyes flicker, uncertain, but then he just  _ uncoils _ , body slumping a little and Steve moves to grab him before he catches himself, pulling his hands away. Tony's eyes follow his hands retreat, and immediately he hardens again, closing off, mouth a tight unhappy line. It's been months, but the times on the Helicarrier still linger in his memory, the harsh edged wall Tony's pulled up, ready to snarl and bite and tear Steve down, and he braces himself for the fight he knows is coming. Tony's eyes sharpen with something cruel, but before he can say a word, Natasha appears at his side.

Tony and Steve jump back

" _ There _ you are," she says, sidling back to his side without batting an eye, except Steve notices she's not moving to touch him. There's a careful distance between them, a neon sign flashing over Tony, telling all to back the hell away, and Natasha's actually heeding it. It's bad then, if she's handling him this way, and when she glances at Steve, there's a silent warning in her eyes. "You're close to being late,  _ Mr. Stark _ ."

Natasha says the name with a smirk, an inviting tease that has Tony's shoulders relax a little, his attention turning on her, still wary but immediately more open. Steve keeps his mouth shut - he's never seen her work anyone when not on a mission, and it's fascinating to see Tony actually respond to her, despite his  _ surely _ knowing exactly what she's doing.

"Yeah, well, I never got around to replacing my PA after the last one. Turns out she was a spy. Would  _ you  _ trust the screening process after that?" Tony quips back, voice calm, but his fingers jump to tap against his chest, over the arc reactor, a nervous tic he seems unaware of. His eyes dart over to Steve, then back to Natasha, rabbit fast. "Remind me again what I'm late for?"

"Steve's getting his 'Ten Days Of Christmas', twenty-first century style," Natasha grins, the lie rolling smoothly off her tongue, and Steve barely has a moment to rearrange his face into something blase as Tony turns on him in surprise. "And now that you're finally here, it's your turn to play host."

_ That _ gets Tony's attention. "What!" he says, whole face falling. "Introduction to the future is  _ my _ thing, I called dibs to showing off our newfangled world to the capsicle, I gave him a motorcycle and everything! That's not  _ fair _ ." Steve's surprised at how mercurial Tony is, because suddenly Tony's no longer anxious, he's  _ sulking _ . It would probably be inappropriate to preen just because Tony's upset at not spending time with him, probably just annoyed that he doesn't get to show off, but Steve's going to read into that regardless - a little Christmas present to himself. It feels like more than he deserves, but gift horses and all that.

Natasha's smiles at Tony's antics, a little quirk in her mouth that almost looks fond. "Shouldn't have spent so much time being a proper responsible adult," she teases, that mischievous streak that's usually reserved for Clint flashing a fin.

Tony throws his hands in the air with disgust. "Well obviously I'm never doing that again. And  _ you _ ," he points a warning finger at Steve. "You shameless hussy! Bet you used that forties charm to get them to spoil you. Terrible! You haven't even tried that charm on  _ me _ yet, I haven't gotten to hear a single 'shucks' or 'gosh darn it' at all, it's practically criminal!"

Behind Tony's back, Natasha winks, far too pleased with herself at turning his mood around. Steve hates that he's jealous at how well she knows them. Knows Tony. Tells himself he's just impressed, and hates that he can't even buy the lie in his own head.

Well, Steve can play this just as well as she can. He widens his eyes innocently, making sure he looks properly contrite. "But how can I say no to all those swell gals?" he asks, letting his accent thicken, and Tony rewards him by actually pouting, lower lip jutting forward. Tony has very full lips, the kind you would nibble on, before kissing the pout away. Steve tears his eyes away from them, heart thundering in his chest.

Natasha doesn't even bother to pretend she didn't notice, her grin widening. "Ever the gentleman," she drawls, and Steve pulls out his best 'a _ w shucks, ma'am _ ' face in retaliation. "And now that you're here Tony, we can finally do the Bronx."

Tony misreads her smile. "What are you planning? Something nefarious. Are there needles? You think you can win me over with promises of trains and dates with Cap, but I know better. There's going to be some horrible catch, like evil Christmas elves or some shit."

Oh good God, Steve's turning red right there, he can't help it, not when Tony actually calls it a date without batting an eye, and of course Tony will notice, and just like that all this easy camaraderie will disappear once more. He can't do it, can't wipe the emotions from his expression, he's going to ruin it again, and his breath quickens, terror climbing up his throat, and he wants to run, even if it means Tony will notice, it's better than reading everything on his face right there.

Mercifully, Natasha takes pity on him.

"Evil elves was last week," she says, catching Tony's elbow and tugging him away. "So no excuses. Get dressed and get caffeinated, you're going to tell us all about trains and other buildy type things."

As they disappear into the hallway, Steve buries his face in his hands, and takes three slow, deep breaths. The cool on his hands feels good against the heated skin of his cheeks, lets him focus on the situation at hand.

He remembers the quiet of the room, Bucky a long solid length against his side as Steve explains what he's feeling. He can still hear the warm laughter, Bucky knocking his shoulder against Steve's, but his smile was kind, not a trace of teasing as he spells it out, tells him what it means when his heart beats like a drum, the blushes burning scarlet over his cheeks. He remembers thinking on that moment years later, when he's standing in front of a crowd of cheering soldiers, and Peggy is telling him he's late, and the realisation hits him then as it does now.

It's been a long time coming, but honestly, Steve had been determined to ignore the stirrings of his heart. He thinks of that moment in the kitchen, when Tony had been so close, Steve could count his eyelashes. Of how easy it would have been to lean down and catch that mouth with his own. Thinks of how much he wanted that.  _ A mistake, _ he'd thought. God above, how could he have ever believed that lie, even in the quiet of his own mind?

With a sigh, he heads off to get changed; he'll be damned if he isn't going to look his best today, regardless of the teasing he's sure to get from Natasha for it. He wonders if Tony will notice. He makes sure he's as neat as can be, puts on the tan slacks, parts his hair like he's always done, half-hoping Tony will tease him for being old fashioned like always. Hopes he'll be pleased, he'd  _ said _ he wanted 'that forties charm'. His stomach swoops with butterflies.

He can see Bucky's smirk in his mind, rolling his eyes. ' _ Get it, Stevie?' _

Damn it all, if he isn't sweet on Tony goddamn Stark.

 

\--

 

Halfway through the Holiday Train Show, Tony falls asleep on Steve's shoulder. It's the first time they've ever touched this much, and Steve's certain the whole crowd can hear his heart pounding in his chest. Steve wants that moment to last forever, but the show ends, and Natasha is having none of it. She pokes Tony awake, pushing him to stumble groggily back to the car. He bumps into several people who shot annoyed glares as he mumbles apologies, until Steve finally catches him by the wrist to lead him back to the car. It feels like there should be a thunderclap or something, that Tony is actually letting him touch, but there's only the indistinct chatter of the crowds, Natasha stalking behind them, sharp eyed. Tony's wrist is thin - not delicate, there's hard muscle corded beneath his fingers - but slender, fitting snugly into the circle of Steve's fingers. He doesn't want to let go, sliding in the back with Tony by his side.

Natasha takes the wheel without a word, her smile infuriatingly smug, but Tony makes no move to pull his wrist away from Steve's grip. On the way back, Tony's head dips in sleep, his body a long warm line as he slumps slightly against Steve's side. He waits until Natasha's focus is on a busy intersection before leaning down, letting his mouth brush close to Tony's ear.

"Welcome back, Tony," he breathes, sure that Tony's asleep. Under the circle of his fingers, strong wrist muscles tense

The next morning, Steve walks into the Tower to find an enormous toy rabbit taking up a whole section of the communal floor. Clint's got his biggest shit-eating grin on over his cereal as he watches Steve approach the toy half expecting it to explode.

"It's an apology from Tony," Clint says, disgustingly smug.

Steve wishes it was a joke, but no, there's a little card Clint holds up that has Tony's blocky scrawl on it. "It's bigger than I am," he says faintly, staring up at the plush towering over him.

"Well," says Clint slowly. "Tony never does anything by halves. Plus he had to go back to Malibu. Apparently his ex showed up. I'm not supposed to know about that last one, but how Tony expects to keep anything a secret when he lives with two of the best spies in the world is beyond me."

Steve stops poking the rabbit and yelps, "What?! But he said-" Steve swallows, and forces his voice back to casual, "I mean, is Tony, you know, not gonna spend Christmas with everyone here?"

Clint flicks a cheerio at him. "If Tony dares to stand _ us _ up on Christmas, he's gonna be sleeping on the sofa for the next twenty years."

Steve sighs. "Does everyone know?"

"Pretty much," Clint admits with a shrug. "The only people blind to how hot you are for him is Tony, and that's only because he, like any sane, rational person, cannot comprehend you crushing on him. If I didn't see it with my own eyes, and know for a fact you weren't a robot alien clone, I wouldn't believe it."

Steve mouths 'robot alien clone' at him. Clint scowls. "How dare you try and evade me, dude, I know all. Don't believe those malicious lies and slander against my good self that Tasha spreads. I am hip on all romantic know-how. My ex-wife can attest to that. And ignore robot alien clones at your own peril. They have laser eyes."

"How do you know about my laser eyes!" Steve exclaims, and laughs as Clint grabs a handful of cereal and throws it. They get into a food fight, and Clint doesn't act differently at all, and even though Natasha had already give him The Talk about current sexual mores, Steve is pathetically grateful when Clint still elbows him in the ribs when Steve wins the food fight with a well aimed handful of soggy cereal. It feels normal, almost like it's OK.

 

\---

 

Steve's first Christmas in the 21st century is spent in a private hospital, wondering if he's going watch his friend die.

He can hardly see Tony beneath the mass of bandages and tubes. He's never seen the arc reactor removed before, barely seen it beyond the blue glow shining through Tony's clothes, but he can see it now, the hole in Tony's chest, how deep it goes, the horrific mass of scar tissue surrounding the metal base. A tangle of wires protrude out of it, hooked up to a machine brought from the Tower at JARVIS' instruction - of course Tony has a plan should he ever fall into a coma and the arc reactor fails, of course he does. Steve very much wants to hit something. He folds his arms, tucking his hands up under his armpits, but the itch, the urge to punch and kick and scream doesn't fade.

Pepper sits on one side, her eyes red rimmed as she clutches Tony's limp hand. Rhodey sits on the other, the right side of his face a mass of swollen bruises, long fingers tapping distractedly against the plastic hospital chair.

The quiet of the room is broken only by the erratic beeping of the machines, as Tony's body struggles not to explode.

It's nearing 4am when Jan slips into the room, looking tired, her smile a brief, unhappy thing. They all tense, but she shakes her head.

"Hank's still working on Maya's notes," she tells them, scrubbing a hand over her face. Rhodey hisses a curse under his breath, and the drumming of his fingers resumes. Jan's smile wobbles, but she takes a breath and continues. "All of her research is coded. She was paranoid in college too. I can't tell you what this Extremis shit will do, because whatever the others were injected with, it's not the same as what Tony gave himself." Her voice breaks at the end, and Steve finally unclenched his hands to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She shakes as the tears spill over, eyes fixed on Tony's prone form. "When he wakes up from this, I'm going to kill him."

"You'll have to get in line," Pepper croaks. It's the first time she's spoken since the last seizure wracked Tony's body, her face still milk pale under her freckles.

_ 'This is what it means, to care about Tony,'  _ she'd said to Steve as the doctors descended on Tony's convulsing form. Her whole body had been trembling,but her eyes had been strong, no tears escaping, even as the doctors plunged a huge needle directly into Tony's chest.  _ 'Waiting for him to be OK, and knowing even if he is, it won't be the last time.' _

Steve had swallowed around the lump in his throat, unclenched his jaw to speak. _ 'But you stood by him.' _

Her lips twist, a smile that is anything but happy. _ 'I tried. I thought I could handle it. But Tony is never going to stop - he loves being a hero, saving people, not thinking twice about throwing himself in front of the bullet, if only it means he can save someone else. And I love him, but I just... I can't keep doing this. I can't wave him off, and wondering if that will be the mission that will kill him. I can't be the one to tell him what he's doing is the right thing. I can't support him, not like that.' _

_ 'You're still here,'  _ Steve pointed out quietly, and Pepper had actually smiled at him.

_ 'This is the change over period,'  _ she admitted softly, and her small hands reached out to clasp his own in a surprisingly strong grip. _ 'Tony needs someone to tell him No, to be by his side so he knows that self-sacrifice isn't his only option. And to be there to catch him if he falls.' _

Steve tugged his hands away, not daring to meet her eyes. _ 'Sounds like a dynamite gal like that might be hard to find, to keep Tony in check like that.' _

Pepper sighed, as the doctors finally retreated from Tony's body, the machines showing closer to normal readings once again. _ 'Only if that  _ person  _ doesn't want to be found. But I think maybe they should give Tony a chance. If they want that, of course.' _

Christmas is a time of joy. Of new beginnings. Of hope. The quiet of the room is only broken by the erratic beeping of the heart monitor, that precious beating thing, proof there is still yet reason to hope. It’s terrible, to want something selfish while Tony lies there fighting for his life, but Steve’s heart burns, a pain that feels icy cold, like snow on a train, helplessly watching the fall. The wanting is the last shred of warmth in him, that selfish desire.

Under his breath, Steve whispers a quick prayer. “Please, Lord, don’t take him from me.” The only answer is the pings of the heart monitor.

 

\---

 

Sweat trickles down his neck as Steve does another rep, his biceps bulging as he lifts the barbell. He's lost count, but the burn keeps the other thoughts in his head at bay, and the gym is blissfully silent. It's stupid of him to do this without a spotter, a voice that sounds like Bucky tells him, but he's not sure he cares if he gets hurt. He almost wants it.

His neck prickles again, and it's more than sweat. He sets the barbell in place, laying still for a moment, panting. Then lets his eyes slide to the left. Tony doesn't move from his seat next to the water cooler. The lights are too dim for Steve to make out his expression, but the silence is anything but comfortable.

Steve waits, but Tony doesn't move, his eyes glinting in the gloom, never moving from him. Well, two can play at that game. Steve takes a long drink from his Gatorade, mops the sweat from his hands, his face, packs away the weights. He can feel those eyes burn into his back, and he's glad for the flush of exertion already colouring his skin.

Eventually, he's packed everything away, and he's left standing in the middle of the gym, back to Tony. He could say something now, pretend like he's only just noticed Tony, like he wasn't ignoring him, but no words come. He swallows, then hurriedly scopes up his gym gear, striding towards the door, praying the silence won't be broken.

Tony's voice is barely audible, but it feels as if it echoes in the empty gym."What I don't get, is why  _ you _ are angry at me." It's mild, spoken like it's just a particularly difficult crossword in the Sunday paper, no accusation, and Steve burns with shame, frozen in the doorway. "Because the others I get," Tony continues. "I mean, me and Pepper, we fell apart because I couldn't stop flirting with Death, that saucy mistress. Rhodey won't forgive me for letting him rescue the President instead of fighting the fire-breathing dude, which is very unfair of him, but it's not like I  _ wanted _ to die. But you. You I just don't get."

All through this, he doesn't move from his seat, a hunched figure that looks nothing like the boisterous billionaire of norm.

Steve 's fingers curl.

The words he hasn't been able to voice since Tony woke up in that hospital spill out. "Why shouldn't I?" The anger in his own voice surprises him. Steve breathes deeply, fighting to stay calm, trying to stay in the moment, not think back to that hospital bed and that sunken, bruised face. Steve digs in fingernails in the flesh of his palm. The pain isn’t enough to forget. He can’t stop those feelings bleed into his voice. “Am I not allowed to care?”

Tony shrugs, wincing when it jostles his sling. "Weren't you the one who said I wasn't the guy to lay down on the wire?"

Steve breathes in sharply, and he's striding over before he realises it, grabbing Tony's arms, his grip too tight but it hurts, it hurts so much, and he wants Tony to  _ feel _ it. "How can you even say that?" he says, too loud, far too loud, Tony's shrinking back, closing off, but there's a triumphant gleam in his eyes, like he's got exactly what he wants, and the fury crashes over Steve before he can stop it. "After everything, how can you still  _ think  _ \- God, Tony, haven't you done enough? Do you think I still don't care, that I can stand by and pretend that you won't make the sacrifice play, when all that I ever think about is that you never do anything but?"

"Getting mixed signals here, Cap," Tony smirks, razor sharp, and Steve release him in disgust.

"Joke all you want," Steve snarls. "But don't you dare think that will stop me caring about you, Tony. Don't you fucking dare."

He blindly collects his things, fury still running electric below the surface of his skin, but Tony never can let anyone else have the last word.

“You care?” Tony spits, derision thick in those words.

Steve stiffens, breathes deep, fighting to push the anger down. Get out of the room, he tells himself frantically, don’t talk to Tony now. Except then there’s a dark, poisonous laugh, echoing in the room, in his ears, and then Tony’s in front of him, blocking his escape.

“Who are you supposed to care about?” Tony says quietly, a cruel smile on his lips. “You say you care about me, but I’m a goddamn businessman. I know a liar when I see one.”

Steve can’t stop the snarl, Tony flinching back, but the surprise disappears behind that mocking mask a second later.

“You don’t care about me, or the Avengers, or anyone else here,” Tony hisses. “We’re all placeholders. You look at us and see someone else. You walk around and talk and go on missions but really you’re just going through the motions until the moment you can go back to the ones you  _ really  _ love.”

Steve’s arms shake, fighting the urge to lash out, to hit this bully in front of him, but Tony isn’t done, stepping close and leaning in, mouth dangerously close, like that night with Rhodey and Carol, and the difference between then and now hurts just as much as Tony’s words.

“You’re just waiting to wake up, like this is some bad dream,” Tony whispers against his lips. “But we’re real, flesh and blood people. We feel, we make mistakes, we  _ care _ . But you're just like my old man - too busy living in the past, too scared to live in the present. Guess what, Steve? You aren’t so damn special you the exception to the rule - everyone’s lost someone, but they still move on with their lives instead of sobbing over the dead. So what’s your excuse?”

The punch sends Tony crashing against the water cooler, harder than Steve should have, but anger clouds his vision. He wants to hit and hit and not stop until the vile poison stops spewing from that mouth, but Tony’s coughing wetly, a triumphant smile on bloody lips, and Steve  _ can’t. _

He storms out of the room, walks right out of the tower. Several hours later, he arrives in Washington, still in his gym gear.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Steve is as big a drama queen as Tony, this is why they are MFEO.


End file.
